


Strategic Retreat

by Aurae



Series: Star Wars Rare Pairs Collection (NC-17) [30]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Background Bail/Breha, Between Seasons/Series, Deception, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash After Dark 2019, Friends With Benefits, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-23 04:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/pseuds/Aurae
Summary: Mon and Breha play a dangerous game of deception.





	Strategic Retreat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).

“We should consider calling for dinner at some point, don’t you think?”

Mon loved her dearly, but sometimes Breha was just too damn practical. “Nah, I’m not hungry,” she said. “Well, I mean, I’m not hungry for _food_. I have everything I’m craving…right…” She pounced, and Breha emitted an adorable burst of sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. “_Here!!_”

They’d already made love several times today, meaning that strong stimulation would be required for renewed arousal, so Mon didn’t bother with foreplay. She just grabbed Breha by the hips, maneuvered her into position, pushed her thighs apart, and dove straight in.

Breha moaned as Mon’s lips wrapped themselves around her sex-swollen clitoris, muscles contracting and releasing, contracting and releasing, and she gasped and sighed as Mon’s tongue probed underneath the tight clitoral hood to stroke and circle the tiny, hidden glans. This was the seat of a woman’s pleasure, and Mon, who was so often forced to take an indirect approach in her political life, liked how straightforward and direct she was permitted to be here.

Mon pressed harder into Breha, pushing deeper, her face mashed against Breha’s pubis, her nose buried in Breha’s fragrant nest of black pubic hair. Ah, how she adored Breha’s musky scent and piquant taste, and she adored equally the way that Breha whimpered over and over and over, fisted the sheets, face contorted and muscles locked when she came, even as the delicate folds of her labia fluttered in involuntary rhythm against Mon’s sensitive lips like a green-gold flickermoth’s six iridescent wings.

She continued laving Breha gently with her tongue even after the orgasm had subsided, cleaning away the clear, slick fluid that had gushed out of her upon achieving orgasm as thoroughly as she was able. They were going to have to get out of bed and dressed again at some point in the near future. Given that they were unlikely to take the time to bathe beforehand, the more comfortable Breha was, the better, as far as Mon was concerned.

And lo, as if Breha were reading Mon’s thoughts, she murmured, “We really _should_ call for dinner, you know. And I need to comm Bail soon.”

Mon sighed. Of course Breha was right.

***

Breha was, hands down, the best part of Mon’s weeklong retreat to the Organas’ summer palace high in the mountains, but the shell-less mollusks taken from the nearby midnight blue alpine lake were, without question, a close second. In fact, dinner was so deliciously fresh that it was literally trying to squirm out of their soup tureens.

“I remember the first time I ever had lakesnail chowder. I was five years old. I may have screamed,” Breha remarked.

Mon chuckled. “You Alderaanians and your audacious culinary delights,” she said with feigned mockery. “On Chandrila our dinner is usually good and dead before it’s brought out to the table.”

“Ha! At least we eat on tables! Why, they say, on the Outer Rim—”

“Please, Breha, my dear. Pleasure before business,” Mon interrupted with a wink. “You’re spoiling my appetite _and_ the fantastic view.” Mon gestured with her inlaid aurodium soup-spears to the spectacular floor to cathedral ceiling transparisteel picture windows beside the dining hall table.

“Ah yes, my apologies, Mon.” Breha took a final, prim sip of soup before pushing her tureen aside. “But we should really comm Bail now.”

Mon did not disagree. She simply smoothed her white, shimmersilk gown and nodded.

Breha activated her portable holoproj device. Bail answered the comm almost immediately. “Breha, lovely to see you! Ah, and Mon! A pleasure as always, Senator,” he said. In spite of his jocular words, Bail’s expression was haggard, and the blue tinge of the holo did nothing to conceal the dark circles under his eyes. “How is the strategic retreat going?”

“Oh, it’s been excellent. I think we’ve made good progress on the redraft of the Reconciliation Committee protocol. We’re maybe a week away from a clean bill we can bring before Chancel—I mean, Emperor Palpatine,” Mon said.

This was the ostensible reason for Mon’s visit to Alderaan. The Clone Wars had ended in victory for their side, but the work of the Loyalist Senators had only seemed to increase under Palpatine’s new Imperial rule. There were questions—questions from their own planetary constituencies about the death of galactic democracy, questions from restive Separatist systems who needed to be brought back into the fold. And there were questions about Palpatine himself, _disturbing _questions about the betrayal of the Jedi Order and the circumstances of his elevation to the throne…

“Excellent. Keep me posted,” Bail replied. “Now, my apologies, but forgive me, but it’s been over a Standard day since I’ve slept and I honestly ought to—”

“Say no more, my dear,” Breha interrupted. “Bed calls. What sort of representative of Alderaan will you be if you fall asleep on the Senate podium?”

“Yes, yes, of course you’re correct. If only my closest ally in the Senate were here to support me.”

By “closest ally,” he meant Mon. The three of them all knew that. “We have important work to do here, and alas, I cannot be in two places as once,” Mon said regretfully. “When some being develops that particular technology, though, I’ll be the first queued up to try it out!”

“Not if I get there first, you won’t,” Bail replied.

“Enough with the jokes. Bed. _Time_,” Breha interjected.

Bail nodded, chastened. “Yes, my dear.”

“Love you. And don’t forget to give Leia a goodnight kiss for me.”

“Will do. Love you too.”

The holoproj comm ended.

“There, that’s done,” Breha announced as she rose from her seat at the table. She glided over to where Mon was still seated, her front to the back of Mon’s chair, and leaned over to press a kiss to the back of Mon’s neck, just behind the ear. The kiss lingered, and Mon lifted her hand to Breha’s hair, fingers digging into the neat, coil of braid wrapped around the top of her head and tugging it free. As Breha’s hair tumbled down in a dark, shining curtain around them, Mon’s eyes flicked toward the window, out through the wan image of her own reflection and onto the darkened lake beyond, no lights whatsoever save the stars, and she thought she could almost pretend that there was no one in the galaxy to see—to know—the secret of their passion for each other.

What one seemed to see could, however, be deceiving. Both Mon and Breha understood that full well.

Mon rose from the table. She took Breha’s face between the palms of her hands and pulled her into an ardent kiss. They were right in front of the window; anyone could see them. Mon didn’t care, and neither, it seemed, did Breha, who returned Mon’s kiss with ardor, refusing to stop until Mon, practically squirming with the intensity of her need, broke the kiss. “Dinner just wasn’t filling, I’m afraid, for a fear I’m already famished again,” she announced.

Breha smiled, bright as sunlight. “Bed, then? I’ll race you.”

***

Mon was vocal in the throes of passion, and she adored not having to be quiet here with Breha. Indeed, she loved the sounds they made together as she straddled Breha’s hips and rode her, her cries in melodious counterpoint to the moist slaps of flesh on flesh, bumping and grinding until stars went nova behind her eyelids and her vision whited out. Mon came, practically screaming, and Breha’s fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise as she came too, thrashing so powerfully that she nearly bucked Mon off.

“A shame we can’t tell Bail what he’s missing,” Breha remarked afterwards once she’d recovered enough from her orgasm to speak in complete sentences.

“Mmm,” Mon murmured noncommittally as she devoted herself to biting and sucking a nice, big, livid mark onto the base of Breha’s neck.

“He’d refuse to see you if he knew. It would tear the Reconciliation Committee apart.”

“Mmm.” Mon made a wet, smacking sound that seemed ridiculous even to her own ears. Was she overdoing it? She sat up and trained her expression into one of sober sincerity. Though they’d no reason to believe ISB surveillance extended beyond the listening devices in the ceiling, just in case ISB had visual capabilities she and Breha were unaware of, it couldn’t hurt to be as thorough in her performance as possible. “No, you’re right. He can’t be told about this.”

Truth be told, they didn’t need to tell Bail _because he already knew._ This was a strategic gambit, an attempt to convince the Imperial Powers That Be that Loyalist Mon Mothma was much, _much_ too busy working to deceive her notional Senatorial ally Bail Organa into thinking her interest in his wife was purely professional to effectively threaten the new regime with coordinated political dissidence. This provided the three of them, and others whom they trusted, cover to conduct a much more dangerous deception: fomenting rebellion while feigning fealty.

“We’re agreed, then?” Breha asked.

“We are,” Mon replied. She turned out the lights and settled in against Breha’s warm, beloved body for a well-earned sleep.

They were playing a dangerous game with Palpatine, to be sure, but at least it wasn’t wholly lacking in fun.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to the exchange on August 16, 2019.


End file.
